


The King is Dead (May the Next Soon Follow)

by shippercabeth0208



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Angst, Blackmail, Character Death, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Death, Essos, Forbidden Love, Forced Marriage, Game of Thrones-esque, Good and Evil, Good versus Evil, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Love/Hate, Marauders' Era, Minor Character Death, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Past Character Death, Pre-A Game of Thrones, Violence, Westeros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 19:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8545792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shippercabeth0208/pseuds/shippercabeth0208
Summary: King Morfin Gaunt is dead, though no man can or will say how, and his oldest son Tom ascends to the throne. But the apple does not fall far from the tree, and the realm may soon find that it is not done with mad kings. The great lords of the land live their lives in shadows, afraid of the consequences of any unintended slight, but as the children of these great Houses grow older, they may decide that it is better to make the King afraid than to live in fear of him.****BEING REWRITTEN****





	

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She looks up at this person in utter disgust. Who is he, that he thinks he can talk to me like this? She was just about to talk to her idol. She looks back towards Lyanna longingly, but he's already taken her arm and spun her around. It is difficult to move in this dress, so instead of turning back around, she decides to make this idiot’s life a living hell.

Lily:  
She wakes up to her half-sister howling furiously in the next room.

“Father, you idiot!” the sister screams. “How could you not know they were coming today!”

“Now, now sweetheart,” Father replies. “I couldn't know. They didn’t know where they would stop on their way to King’s Landing. I don't know where we will stop on our way to King’s Landing. As a matter of fact-”

“Oh shut up and get out already, you great fool!” Petunia shrieks, and Lily hears the thud of her shoe hitting a wall. “Go bring your excuses to that freak! She has the time! Lord knows she doesn't need to get ready like I do!” A few seconds after that pronouncement, a door slams and Father tromps into my room.

“Lily, are you awake?” As he says this, Lily sits up, rubbing her eyes.

“How could I not be after that!” He laughs, then sits down next to her and sighs.

“Were you awake for…well, for all of it?” he says. She nods, and he looks away.

“I just want to say, before you judge her you must-”

“Father.”

“I mean, I want to explain her behavior, although there is no excuse for-”

“Father.”

“You know Petunia, she’s a complicated child and -”

“Father.

He finally stops and looks at her as she takes his large hands in her much smaller ones.

“I know what she thinks of me.” He looks slightly ashamed, as if he thought he had succeeded in protecting her from Petunia's vicious streak.

“And what’s that?”

“I know she hates me, at least for now, probably since she found out that my mother’s not her mother, and I know she thinks my brothers and I are all ########, and that we don’t deserve to live here. I know all of these things Father. You don't need to make excuses for her.”

“Lily,” he murmurs, looking at her, his eyes imploring her to forgive her sister, and pitying her for having to know all of this, at the same time. She leans closer to him, putting his hands down as her do.

“And I don't care.” He looks shocked at that.

“It doesn't matter, I'll always love her like my sister, even if she’s not.” He looks at her disbelievingly.

“You don't have to say that.”

“I don't have to say it. It’s the truth.” He still doesn’t believe her. In his head, he sees the Petunia and Lillian of now, with yelling and cursing and, in Lily's case, sometimes violence. She tries to make him understand.

“She's my family and I'm hers. Just because she's annoying and bossy and crazy and vain and absolutely hates me most of the time doesn’t mean that’s not true.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“I think that you are the most forgiving 11-year-old I have ever met.” He nudges her playfully and smiles. “Certainly more forgiving than your sister was at that age.” I smirk.

“Father, you’re far too generous with me.” She can tell that as soon as she says it he’s thinking of all of the servants she's destroyed for being cruel to Dudley.

“I’m only ever forgiving of family.” They enjoy a moment together before he remembers the reason he was in her room in the first place.

“The Potters! How could I forget?” He stands up hurriedly, brushing the dirt off of his lap. He walks out of the room even more quickly, combing his hands through his greying hair and beard and muttering something unpleasant about the great houses of the land and their unexpected arrivals, which she can only attribute to nerves.

As her maids help her get ready, putting on her multilayered, beautiful, uncomfortable dress (ugh), and fixing her hair up in the style of the Crownlands, she wonders about the legendary Potters. They've been lords in the North for a thousand years, unlike the Evans, whose stint as a noble family began exactly two generations ago. They are a far greater house than hers, which you can tell just from the difference in the names of their castles. Winterfell and Marshwood Keep. It is very difficult to tell which one belongs to the Wardens of the North and which belongs to a minor, fairly new house in the Vale.

The Potters are great warriors as well, a well-known fact since the beginning of time. The only reason they're not the rulers of their own country is because of the Gaunt dragons, so many years ago. Without them, there was no way to tame the North. It was far too large, and its people were of the First Men, a huge army of fearless, strong warriors. The dragons are gone now, but the strength of the Northern army is not diminished in the slightest. Father has always told her that if the North rode South, he doesn't know if the other six kingdoms together could stop their advance.

Needless to say, she, who can use a bow and a sword better than most of her brothers, is very excited to meet Robb Potter and his daughter Lyanna. He's the best swordsman the world has ever known, or so they say, and Lyanna trained underneath him, at his request. Some say she’s even better than him, and has defeated in him in honorable single combat. But usually the two of them fight together, on the battlefield and in tournaments. In short, they're the most amazing father and daughter ever to live. And she's going to meet them! Of course, Petunia thinks Lyanna would be an absolute horror. That one is excited to meet Lady Alysanne Potter, who's famous for her beauty. And her embroidery. And her singing.

Once she is in her best gown, she hoists the skirts up to her knees and sprint to the stairs, then slides down the bannister with her septa twittering behind her. She races out to the courtyard and stands next to Petunia, who glares down her nose at her and flares her nostrils. She’s only one year older than Lily and yet the prat thinks she's the queen of the bloody world.

Lily's pokes Petunia in the ribs, and the older girl is glaring at her when the gates open. Lily sees the banners before anything else. The great silver stag, beautifully painted on a blue banner. Although she knows that it's only a painting, supposed to be terrifying, she feels as if it is a father, protector of the Potters. Then she sees Robb ride in alongside Lyanna in front of his other children and his wife in the carriage. She is absolutely sure that she would rather be protected by them than a painted stag.

While the Lady Alysanne and all the children are dressed in fine clothes and riding in carriages, Lady Lyanna and her father ride in front in full armor, carrying swords of Valyrian steel, the best steel ever made, the secret of its creation lost with old Valyria. Ice and Snow, the swords passed down from father to son. The fact that his daughter carries it instead of his firstborn son, James, is significant proof of her importance, to her family and to her people.

They dismount and Robb walks over to greet his wife and their children, helping them out of the carriage. They walk over to Lily's father, and as they grow closer, she stands up straighter. Lord Potter bows to her father and kisses her mother’s hand.

“Lord Evans, thank you for having us on such short notice,” he says courteously. Her father smiles at that.

“The pleasure is all mine, Lord Potter. You and yours are welcome here,” he replies, as is customary when a guest arrives.

As soon as these necessary formalities are done with, the two men clasp forearms.

“Pete, I really am grateful. It's difficult to put up with all of this at home, let alone abroad,” he says, gesturing at his long retinue. Father laughs at that.

“I'm always glad to have you Robby. But,” He looks at the retinue. “How long do you think you'll be staying?”

Lord Potter raises an eyebrow. “I thought I was always welcome.”

“Oh you are. I just wanted to know if I'll have to bring out the winter food stores to feed all of you.” Lord Robb claps him on the back and they laugh. They walk off, talking about battles gone by and times long past, Father looking younger by years.

Now that the adults have gone off, Lily can talk to Lyanna. She's absolutely terrified. This woman is her hero. _What if she doesn't like me? What if she thinks I'm like Petunia and the rest?_ She breathes in as much air as possible in this stupid dress, then pushes the air out. She smiles tentatively and takes a step forward.

“Would you like the honor of giving me a tour of this castle?”

She looks up at this person in utter disgust. _Who is he, that he thinks he can talk to me like this?_   She was just about to talk to her idol. She looks back towards Lyanna longingly, but he's already taken her arm and spins her around. It's difficult to move in this dress, so instead of turning back around, she decides to make this idiot’s life a living hell. .

“Who are you?” she asks, making sure to sound polite. He puffs up a bit, taking pride in the fact that he gets to tell her this, as if he is the most important person she’ll ever know and she gets the honor of hearing his name from his own lips. It is at this point that she is sure beyond a reasonable doubt that he is an insufferable arse.

“I'm James Potter,” he says, waiting to bask in my adoration.

She is unimpressed by this so-called heir to the North.

“Pleasure. I’m Lily Evans,” she says casually. He stops and looks at her like she's a monster with three heads. He then shakes himself out of it, probably thinking that perhaps she's too stupid to know who he is.

“I'm the first born son of Robb Potter.”

“Yup.” She walks through the courtyard into one of the castle’s corridors.

“My sister is Lyanna Potter.”

“Mm-hmm.” He runs ahead of her now, and begins jogging backwards.

“I'm the heir to Winterfell.”

“Aah.”

“My great grandfathers were kings.”

“I see.”

“The greatest army in the world will one day be at my command!”

“That's interesting.”

“I started learning to use a sword when I was nine.”

“I was three.”

“I'm a part of the greatest family in the North.”

“My great, great-grandfather was a smuggler.”

“I am probably the most powerful boy of my age in all of Westeros!”

“Very nice.”

He throws his hands up in the air, still jogging backwards, unable to see the end of the hallway behind him.

“Don't you care?!”

She snorts as he hits his head on the wall and walks through the doorway.

“Not really.”

He stands up and brushes himself off, then chases after her, latching himself onto her arm like a leech thirsty for blood. Hmmm. A leech. Parasitic and disgusting. A far better metaphor for this James Potter than a stag.

“Did you say you're trained with a sword?” She nods, trying to make him go away. He snorts.

“I bet you're not any good.” This irritates her, but she doesn't let him know that, keeping her face deadpan.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is.”

“And why would you think that?”

“Because you're a girl.” That statement was a mistake. She no longer wants him to go away or leave her alone. She wants to humiliate him, so that every time he sees her face he is filled with a renewed sense of shame. But she will bide her time. After all, revenge is a dish best served cold.

“Doesn't your sister hold your family's sword, instead of you? I was under the impression that she was a girl.” He snorts at that.

“Lyanna’s only holding the sword until I come of age, she's not really a fighter. I can beat her easily now. She'll go back to doing her woman's work, like sewing and playing the harp, once I'm old enough to fight for our family.” She doesn't believe a word out of that pompous idiot’s mouth. And she will destroy him for badmouthing his family just to look good. (Or at least that’s what she’ll tell father and the gods.)

“I see. I was under the impression that she fought side by side with your father and beat every man who challenged her. I guess she and I are less alike than I thought.”

“Why's that?” She stops and turn to look at him, staring daggers into his soul.

“Because I guarantee that I could knock you on your arse if I had a wooden stick as long as my arm and you were holding Snow.” She turns and walks away from him, running around a corner and hurrying into her favorite secret passage before he can catch up.

She runs through the passages into her room. In there, she changes out of that hateful, straight laced dress and into a much more comfortable tunic and trousers. She peeks out of the door to make sure no one has followed her, then grabs her sword, Claw, and runs down the back stairs and into a second courtyard, which is the place where she feels most at home.

“Ser Rodrik!” she yells, as soon as she's out.

Ser Rodrik is the most talented warrior in her father's castle, and that's saying something. Everyone here, including her father, was given their title as a knight for service to the crown, which means all of them are soldiers, not pompous lords like a certain prissy Potter, even though some of them do have old, noble blood. Ser Rodrik is the best of the best though. He once fought off twenty Black men, one of whom was a practitioner of blood magic. But although she loves him, it's not him she is looking for right now.

“Yes Lily?”

“Do you know where Sev is?” Severus Snape is Ser Rodrik’s nephew, her best friend, and probably the only person in the world outside of her family who likes her more than Tuni. Ser Rodrik shakes his head, exasperated.

“I never know where that boy is.”

“Oh. Alright.” She's dejected, but only for a moment, until she has an absolutely wonderful idea. Something that's sure to cheer her up.

“Can you spar with me?” He cocks his head, one eyebrow raised.

“Didn’t the Potter boy ask you to show him around the castle?”

“He did,” she says, taking her stance.

“Is there any particular reason why you’re here and not on the arm of the heir to Winterfell?” he says, taking his. She strikes and he parries.

“Not really. It’s only that he's a pompous arse and absolutely the stupidest person I have ever met.” He attacks and she blocks him for as long as she can, before he touches his blade to her neck.

“Come now Lily, you've only just met him. What have I told you about making quick judgements of people?” he says, as they start again.

“Yes, I know, I know, a quick judgement of your opponent is the deadliest mistake. But you know me. I don’t normally make judgements like that. Father said only this morning that he thinks I’m the most forgiving eleven-year-old he’s ever met.” She pauses, thinking of how she should continue.

“It’s not a normal thing for me. I think he's the only person I've ever met who I immediately disliked.” Rodrick winks.

“You know what they say. There’s a thin line between love and hate.” That angers her more than any advice he’s ever give her and she flies at him, giving no thought to defense.

“Be angry Lily, you can’t help that,” he says, hitting her in the stomach, then the heart, then the collarbone. “But not too angry. It makes you worse, not better.”

They continue on for a while in silence and she actually manages to get in a few hits. She feels the anger and frustration drain out of her, as it always does, and time flies by. When she looks up at the sun, it's nearly set. Not good. She sheaths Claw and runs up the stairs with her sword in hand.

“Bye Ser Rodrik!” she yells over her shoulder. She tears into her room and calls for her maids, who dress her and arrange her hair at a terrifying speed. She never takes the time to appreciate them, but they must be near superhuman to prevent her from being late and also keep her looking somewhat presentable at the same time. Her septa, who does not possess the same amount of mettle, is screaming as she throws herself onto the bannister, nearly falling off and down the stairs before righting herself. She races to the door of the great hall, then walks inside calmly and gracefully in, like a proper lady, and sits next to Tuni at the table at the front of the hall. Mother gives her a warning look for coming in late. But the Potters aren’t here yet, and you’re not late until you come into your dining hall after your guests. That’s a simple fact, and who is she to argue with facts?

The Potters walk in and towards the head table. There are only two open seats in her vicinity, one on her right and one on Tuni's left. Lyanna is walking towards her. She silently prays to the Seven that she will sit next to her. Lyanna walks closer, touching the hilt of her sword, glancing slyly at Lily's slightly windswept hair and winking. At this moment, she is sure that her prayers have been answered. And then, suddenly… James.

“Hello again Lady Evans,” he smirks. She begins cutting up her food as quickly as possible, refusing to look at him.

“James,” she responds, before stuffing food in her mouth. His smirk grows wider, for whatever reason.

“Why so cruel, Evans? After all, one day, we’ll be husband and wife.” She stops eating to digest this information, then continues her meal.

“No we won’t.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken my lady. I heard our fathers discussing it. They think it would be a fortuitous match, strengthening the bonds between our houses even further,” he says, sure of himself as ever.

“Marriage is good for strengthening the bonds between houses. A newlywed bride brutally murdering her husband on their wedding night has the potential to put those bonds in peril.” He frowns now. “That is if your father did not love my father so.” The frown deepens at the thought that there is someone who wouldn’t go to war over him.

“Well, you’ll still have to do it if your father says so.” he says petulantly.

“He won’t.”

“How can you be sure?” She finally looks up from her food, in order to look him dead in the eyes.

“Because if my father won’t listen to me when I first beg him not to do such a horrid thing to his favorite daughter, I’ll describe in detail all the ways I can kill you and make it look like an accident.” This is probably the worst thing anyone has ever said to him, and she can tell. He looks at her blankly for a moment.

“You have a very violent mind, Lady Evans.”

“Be quiet or I’ll put it to good use, Lord Potter.” And with that, the torturous conversation ends and I am left to an evening of staring longingly two seats to my left.


End file.
